Who?
by elf-princess-girl
Summary: Just an angsty little story. It should be a OneShot but it was a bit long so I split it up, next part soon! Bit of gore not much, death but not so much as to scare you or anything. Betrayal, murder, sounds cheerful eh? Enjoy! Btw this is NOT AryaEragon


A/N – I don't particularly like this one, but my friend does, so Danni, this is for you. You'd better appreciate it. Hehe.

Disclaimer – Honestly, it's Fan fiction, what exactly did you expect? Not mine.

**Untitled**

Eragon slipped out of Saphira's saddle, his eyes casting wildly round for any glimpse of her. He hadn't even bothered to sheathe his bloody sword; there was no glimpse of triumph in his demeanour as there should have been as his gaze fell on legion upon legion of Galbatorix' soldiers fleeing, leaderless, hopeless. He felt nothing but rising panic as he saw nobody where she had been.

"_She was there. Right there! WHERE IS SHE!?"_

Saphira's voice echoed back in reply. _"I don't know little one. She could be anywhere"_

Eragon began to run, back towards where he had last seen her – nothing. Nothing but the grass, trampled and covered in blood. No Arya. The question now was, 'Whose blood?' He turned and fled towards the healer's tents, right into Nasuada's outstretched arm.

Her armour was crushed and gouged out but she didn't seem to have noticed. Her strung bow hung limply at her shoulder, her sword at her hip and blood dripped from her head. She stared at Eragon blankly, her eyes slipping in and out of focus.

"She's not there Eragon." Relief spread over his face but a shred of anxiety remained.

"Where then?" he demanded, "Where!?"

"Angela… Trianna… mine… Oh, I'm sorry" Nasuada gasped at him her breathing heavily laboured, "She…she was the best friend I ever had…" and she collapsed into floods of merciless tears, her face pressed into Eragon's chest.

"No…" His face fell and his eyes blurred. "No…" He shrugged Nasuada off, with silent apologies for not being more comfort, and, grabbing her hand, jumped onto Saphira again, screaming at her with his mind and voice to go faster, faster! The dragon had barely touched her feet to the ground when he dragged Nasuada off and through the opening at the front of the tent where she was staying.

There was a small chorus of gasps when they entered. It seemed as though half the army was gathered round. He hadn't expected it to be so crowded. Surely there was no need for so many? Surely if…? He didn't dare to hope. The crowd had moved aside for them but as they began to walk down the small aisle, a small, dark haired woman stepped in front of them.

"Angela! How is she? She's not…"

"Oh no. Nobody comes in here. Not even you. It's not pretty, not pretty at all. And it's not as though she knows you're here. She can't hear you. Hey! Where do you think you're going, didn't you hear!? Get back!" For Eragon hadn't time to listen to all the reasons why he shouldn't see her, and had just pushed roughly past Angela. She turned to Nasuada.

"Sorry, my lady. Definitely not. I can't allow it"

But Nasuada turned to her,

"I believe you forget, I am the leader of the Varden, I will do what I like, and besides, this is my tent, if anyone has the right to be here it is me."

She spun around, anger etched all over her face, and followed Eragon.

And there she was. She lay on the bed in the corner, her black hair splayed out around her head, and her face gave no sign that she was anything but peacefully asleep. But her tunic was slashed through down her side and blood was steadily pouring from it, dripping down her arm and congealing round her fingers. Under the material a ragged wound ran all the way from the middle of her chest, down, curving slightly until it reached her hips. Tiny flecks of white showed through and she lay completely still, barely breathing as though each breath pained her to take it. Her armour rested on the floor beside her, almost split in half from the force of the blow.

Eragon felt Nasuada tremble weakly beside him. He didn't blame her. If it was a matter of what he wanted to do, he would have too. He was just stretching his arm out to rest it on her shoulder and steady her, when she gave a small squeak of something between anger and disgust, and fell in a dead faint to the floor.

At this, Angela bustled over, as Trianna, who appeared to have been there all the time, unnoticed, began shooing the other healers and leaders out with increasingly louder and more exasperated shouts.

"Just wait outside for five minutes. It's far too crowded in here to be beneficial to anyone! Oh, just _GET OUT!!_"

She finally succeeded in getting them to sit outside, ready to jump back in at any command should the need arise, and slowly walked over to take Nasuada's vacated position at Eragon's side. She smiled wryly as Angela's angry tirade floated up to their ears from where she was trying to revive Nasuada.

"…told her not to come in, knew this would happen, silly girl, not something anyone her age should have to see, such good friends…" she trailed off as she noticed them listening, "And you, Eragon! Don't think I approve of your being here any more than I did Nasuada. It's not something you should have to see. I understand why you wanted to, but it's not a suitable environment for a child, even such a mature one as yourself. It's not the same when it's some nameless soldier on the battlefield, the same wound looks ten times worse when it's inflicted on a friend."

And she was right of course.

Eragon turned to Trianna,

"How deep?"

"Very." She sighed sadly and gently wiped some of the caked blood from Arya's pale skin, exposing the white nubs of bone sticking from the wound. Eragon shuddered involuntarily.

"It went right through her ribs, looks from her breathing as though it's punctured her lung. I wouldn't normally say talk to someone in this state, for it saps a lot of their strength, but, well, I'm not sure it will really matter."

"But it's only a cut right?"

"Yes…but…"  
Eragon interrupted her, "So we can heal it, even if it is deep!"

"No, that's what I was going to say. There's some sort of defence around it. Magic. We've tried everything but it won't heal."

Eragon stared dumbfounded. It couldn't be. He rested his hand on Arya's stomach and whispered the strongest words of healing he knew. A faint green glow surrounded the wound but nothing else happened.

Angela jumped up and grabbed his hand away roughly.

"Don't! Every time we try it seems to sap her own strength to prevent that cut healing. There's nothing we can do." Her voice dropped back down to it's normal state, perhaps even comforting, "I'm sorry."

Trianna rested her hand on his shoulder.

"Talk to her. I'll keep them out for a bit of privacy. Angela and I will be just over there if you need us."

She bent down and dabbed at Nasuada's brow with a trailing sleeve before lifting her and laying her down gently on a mat at the front of the tent, as far away from Eragon as she could get and forlornly beckoning Angela over.


End file.
